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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24179740">Nightshade</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingintoimagination/pseuds/fallingintoimagination'>fallingintoimagination</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddierose/pseuds/maddierose'>maddierose</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Daddy Issues, Dubious Consent, F/M, Marriage of Convenience, Older Man/Younger Woman, Sex, Vortigern has a son, Vortigern has another wife</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:14:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,662</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24179740</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingintoimagination/pseuds/fallingintoimagination, https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddierose/pseuds/maddierose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and his friends seek out Vortigern's weaknesses - and find his most prominent ones in the form of his second wife and toddler son. The young Queen finds her loyalties conflicted as she learns of her husband's dark deeds, while Arthur finds himself falling for the group's street-smart informant. Arthur/OC; Tristan/OC/Vortigern.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur (King Arthur: Legend of the Sword)/Original Female Character(s), Vortigern (King Arthur: Legend of the Sword)/Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Once and Future King</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Warnings: sex scene</b>
</p><p>Queen Rowena was perfectly content before her husband arrived. It wasn’t that she minded him seeing her, it was just that it felt it happened less and less frequently. She was playing with her son, three-year-old Prince Vortimer. He was the sweetest child she could ever have hoped for and as she reached down to pop him in her lap, he affectionately kissed her cheek. He made her smile and gave her reason to feel happy. However, she realised that there was someone watching them from the doorway.</p><p>Vortigern observed his wife and son from a distance. Although she could not blame him for being busy – what King wasn’t? – it felt to her that he was not as interested in her of late. However she knew that Vortigern adored their son and so she drew the toddler’s attention to him.</p><p>“Look who is it, my love.”</p><p>“Papa.” Vortimer’s eyes widened with joy.</p><p>“Go on, go say hello.” Rowena placed him on the ground, watching him toddle over, blonde curls bouncing. Everyone always said that the Prince favoured his mother with his golden features. She watched as Vortigern picked him up, getting to her feet.</p><p>“Mama is teaching me to read,” Vortimer declared.</p><p>Vortigern smiled. “Very good.”</p><p>“He is very clever,” Rowena said. The Queen was always full of praise for her child. With Vortimer around, she never let any of her concerns show, keeping up a pleasant façade for the boy’s benefit. She didn’t want him upset and thinking his parents were displeased.</p><p>“He will make a fine leader one day.” Vortigern kissed his cheek before setting him on the ground. Vortimer was not his only child – he had a daughter from his first marriage, Princess Catia. However as the boy was his heir and still so small, Vortigern showered the child with attention. Rowena did not think that fair on Catia, but it was not her place to say so.</p><p>“Have you come to see us?” she asked.</p><p>“Of course, I had some time spare.” Vortigern regarded her. “How have you been, my wife?”</p><p>These days, Rowena relished any attention she got from her husband. Their marriage had never been the strongest – it had been a political match. She had been barely eighteen when she had married Vortigern, who had been twice her age at the time. She supposed the large age difference might contribute to any difficulties in their marriage. After all, she was only a handful of years older than Catia.</p><p>“Well.” She clasped her hands. “I’ve been spending time with Catia and Vortimer mostly.”</p><p>“How has that been?” he asked.</p><p>“Enjoyable,” Rowena stated, a little uncertain what else she was meant to say. She and her husband had few things in common and even after six years of marriage, she found small talk to be rather awkward. “Vortimer is playful.”</p><p>He nodded. “That is good to hear.”</p><p>“Will you be joining us for dinner?” Rowena asked. Often she would dine with the Princess instead. When she’d first married the King, Rowena had been terrified that her friendship with Catia would disintegrate. The two women had been childhood playmates, and she fretted that her new status as stepmother would overshadow that. Yet Catia had taken Rowena’s new position with grace and dignity, and their friendship had remained strong since.</p><p>“I will tonight.” Vortigern nodded, making Rowena smile. These days he was so busy with the tower he was working on that she would not see him often. While she didn’t mind him being occupied, she often felt lonely and neglected. Not that it was an unusual feeling in Rowena’s life. Yet at least now, she had her son and Catia to spend her time with. It was better than no one.</p><hr/><p>Kyra raked a hand through her hair as she removed the hood from the top of her head. She glanced around the small brothel, wrinkling her nose at the mixture of scents that filled her nostrils. It was a sickly sweet smell and she didn’t quite know if she liked it or not. She wandered over to one of the girls, getting a drink from her as she looked around the place. It had been just over a month since her last visit, and she had only a small amount of information for the time she had been away.</p><p>She shifted through the crowds of people as she recognised her blonde friend, making her way over to him. “Arthur.”</p><p>Arthur turned around to face her, grinning down at her. "How have you been?"</p><p>“Well, and yourself?” She raised an eyebrow, sipping her ale.</p><p>"Fairly well." He nodded as he placed a hand on the small of her back, steering her away from the centre of the brothel. "What brings you here?"</p><p> She rolled her eyes at the question. “Information, as usual."</p><p>Arthur leant against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yes?"</p><p>“There have been Viking ships spotted off the coast.” She informed him as she leant against a table parallel to him.</p><p>"How many?" Arthur raked a hand through his hair. They both knew that Vikings were known for causing trouble, and it was something they rather liked to avoid.</p><p>“Three." She told him, finishing her drink. “They’re a few days away."</p><p>Arthur nodded. "I'll let the others know."</p><p>“Do you mind if I rest here tonight?” Kyra knew it wouldn’t be a problem, but she couldn’t help the formality of it all. Sometimes her and Arthur acted like the friends they were, and other times they acted like they only knew each other through business.</p><p>"No, that's fine." He smiled down at her as he ruffled her hair, her hand flying up to catch his wrist, twisting it. He stepped back, holding his hands up, but the grin was still plastered to his face. "Easy there."</p><p>“Don’t touch my hair." She reminded him as she brushed past, kissing his cheek as she did.</p><hr/><p>Rowena sat cross-legged on the bed in her white nightgown, braiding back her blonde hair. She didn’t know why she was nervous about spending time alone with her husband. Perhaps it was because she actually wanted to talk with him, and worried he wouldn’t take her seriously. Throughout their marriage, her purpose was clear, and providing opinions and commentary was not part of that purpose. When Vortigern strode into the room, she offered him a slight smile.</p><p>“Vortigern. How is the tower coming along?”</p><p>“Well enough.” He sat down on the bed, taking off his boots. His abrupt answer disappointed her, making her frown slightly.</p><p>“Did you not wish to discuss it?”</p><p>“No.” His reply was blunt. She knew better than to get upset over it. What did a pretty little airhead like her know about the tower? They all thought she didn’t have an opinion on anything. She tried not to, knowing that her husband and her father preferred it when she didn’t speak her mind. Heaving a sigh, Rowena curled on her side, glancing over her shoulder at Vortigern.</p><p>“Are you not coming to bed?”</p><p>“I will.” Vortigern sprawled back on the bed. “You seem upset.”</p><p>“No, I just didn’t think you wanted to talk,” Rowena said. She had learned how to behave over her six years as Queen. She did not question her husband. His word and his desires were the only things that mattered. Her own wants and needs took a back seat, if they even mattered at all.</p><p>“Not about business.”</p><p>“We don’t have to talk.” Rowena sat up, watching him carefully. His eyes raked over her and she knew precisely what he wanted. It shouldn’t have surprised her – it was what he always wanted from her. The ladies of the court said it was understandable, that a middle-aged King should often desire his pretty young wife.</p><p>“What would you like to do?” he asked.</p><p>Rowena responded by kissing him. The only power she ever held over Vortigern was sexual power. She could not think of a time when she had initiated that he hadn’t felt like sex, and usually he was the one who initiated such things in any case. Despite the fact that he was often busy, they did have a very active sex life. He slid his arms around her waist, groaning as her lips trailed down his neck. Rowena crawled on top of him, straddling his lap before reaching up to unlace her nightgown.</p><p>Vortigern examined her with a lustful gleam in his eyes as she shrugged her nightgown down to her waist. Rowena reached down to undo his pants, feeling his erection pressed against her. Vortigern flipped them so that she was on her back beneath him. He shoved her nightgown up around her waist before he pushed her legs apart and slid into her. The blonde instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, while his fingers slipped down to grip her hips.</p><p>Rowena arched her back as he kissed her neck, gripping his shoulders as he started to thrust. She moaned as his hands roamed her body, bucking her hips against him. No matter the others aspect of their relationship, she usually found sex with her husband to be very pleasurable. Her head fell back against the pillow as Vortigern pumped into her harder. His deep thrusts coaxed louder moans from her. He groaned as she ran her hands down his back, causing Rowena to smirk.</p><p>Vortigern’s thrusts became faster and the familiar intense heat of an impending climax washed over Rowena. Her moans escalated into cries of pleasure, legs tightening around him. Her entire body shuddered and Vortigern followed after a few hard thrusts, grunting loudly as he finished inside her. Rowena panted, running her fingers through her tangled blonde hair as her husband rolled off her. She fixed her nightgown, tugging it down from her waist and back up over her breasts.</p><p>Rowena rolled onto her side and Vortigern put an arm around her waist. For a few moments, there was peaceful silence. Sometimes, Rowena wondered if her husband was only pleased with her after he’d had sex with her. She let him keep his arm around her, grateful for the physical contact while it lasted.</p><p>“Are you leaving again tomorrow?” she asked quietly.</p><p>“I have to,” he responded curtly.</p><p>Rowena resisted the urge to sigh, knowing that it would annoy him. Although her husband satisfied her in bed, there were other ways in their relationship in which she was deeply unsatisfied. The only problem was, there was little she could do about it. He was the King and although she was the Queen, she’d only achieved that title through marrying him. She was little more than a trinket, an object of value. The thought made her feel incredibly lost and sad. She knew her husband didn’t love her or care for her in the way she wanted him to, and that he likely never would. Yet it didn’t stop it from hurting.</p><hr/><p>"Didn't take you for much of a drinker, Kyra." Arthur grinned as he watched his female friend refill her glass for the second time that night.</p><p>Kyra raised an eyebrow at him, leaning back in her seat and kicking her feet up on the table. She was enjoying being in a comfortable and familiar place with people she trusted. “Does it matter?"</p><p>“She can hold her drink better than you." Backlack commented, earning a scoff from Arthur.</p><p>"Hardly." He argued before gesturing over to her. "Look at the size of her."</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?" Kyra flared up, not appreciating how he was speaking about her. It was true she was small, standing just over five feet</p><p>"You're tiny. You can't outdrink someone my size." Arthur smirked at her, leaning forward to fill his cup again.</p><p>“Perhaps not, but I could beat you in a fight." She winked at him, finishing her drink and placing her cup on the table.</p><p>Tristan, often nicknamed Wetstick, grinned at that, glancing between the two. “I’d love to see that."</p><p>Arthur raised an eyebrow at the suggestion, genuinely curious at the thought. "What sort of fight?"</p><p>“No weapons, just fists. I’m a lot faster than you.” She boasted, getting to her feet.</p><p>"Alright. Done. What does the winner get? And how do we decide who's the winner?" Arthur questioned as he finished his own drink, getting to his feet as well.</p><p>Kyra thought on it for a moment, tapping her chin. “Whatever you want. Name your prize.”</p><p>“Whoever can’t walk first, I think.” Tristan chuckled, and they both glanced at him, knowing the double meaning to his comment.</p><p>"Five gold coins." Arthur told her, looking down at her.</p><p>Kyra nodded in agreement before gesturing towards the door. “I suggest we do this outside.”</p><p>"Right." He nodded as he followed her outside, the other two men following as well, keen for the show they were about to witness.</p><p>Kyra tugged her coat off, rolling her shoulders and standing across from him. “Ladies first.”</p><p>"Then no one would ever go." He smirked, catching her arms as she launched at him.</p><p>Arthur used his strength to spin her around, throwing her off balance momentarily before she twisted, kicking him in the stomach and flipping out of his grip. She didn’t have the strength to beat him, but her years of gathering information meant she was an excellent and fast climber. He staggered back, allowing her to kick his legs from under him, but not before he grabbed her around the waist, tugging her down with him.</p><p>As they both hit the ground, Kyra twisted away, rolling a few centimetres before he dragged her back. He was met with an elbow to the face as she clambered to her feet, breathing heavily. Arthur rolled to his own feet before lunging at him again and clambering onto his back. He flopped back on the ground, coughing and playing dead as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She struggled beneath him for a moment before driving her heel between his legs. Pain shot through him and he shifted slightly, allowing her the leverage she needed to push him off of her.</p><p>“Shall we call it even?” She questioned as they both laid on the ground, breathing heavily.</p><p>“Sounds fair." Arthur chuckled, glancing at her. "Another drink?"</p><p>“Of course." She winked at him. “You’re paying.”</p><p>"Really? Why's that?" He asked as he got to his feet, pulling her to hers.</p><p>Kyra rested a hand on his chest as she was pulled close to him, using his body to balance herself. “Because the man always buys the lady a drink.”</p><p>"I don't see a lady." He grinned down at her, earning himself a punch in the arm.</p><p>“Ass.”</p><hr/><p>The Earl of Mercia was, like the King, a busy man. However he was usually able to make time for the Queen. Rowena entered his chambers with her son balanced on her hip, watching as the man read over a letter. She always dressed extravagantly when she visited Mercia, determined to remind him of her social status. He placed it down on his desk before turning to face her.</p><p>“Hello, daughter.”</p><p>“I need to talk to you,” she insisted.</p><p>Mercia arched an eyebrow. “About?”</p><p>“My husband.” Rowena bit her lip. She didn’t like bringing these matters to her father, however she did need advice. “I rarely see him. He has little interest in speaking to me.”</p><p>He sighed heavily. “He is busy.”</p><p>“I know, but I am still his wife,” she said, as if her father could have forgotten. He had been the one who had pushed for the marriage in the first place, who had seen to it that they were betrothed when Rowena had been only sixteen. “He does not make me happy lately, Father.”</p><p>“It is not his job to make you happy,” Mercia responded dismissively, causing Rowena to avert her eyes. Despite the fact that she was the Queen and he was technically her inferior, Mercia still had ways of making her feel like a scolded child. “It is your job to please him.”</p><p>“I try, Father.” It was all Rowena had ever done. She tried. She had tried to make her father proud of her, to view her as anything more than just a means to further his ambitions. Now she tried to get her husband to care about her. “What can I do to keep his interest? I fear he will tire of me.”</p><p>“Give him another son,” Mercia stated, as if it were that simple.</p><p>“We are doing our best to conceive, but he is not around as often.” Initially, these conversations had made Rowena squirm with embarrassment, mortified at discussing her sex life with her father. However over time it had become apparent that as the Queen, she had little privacy in her affairs. People wanted to know if they should expect children. She had not fallen pregnant since she’d had Vortimer. The child in question was playing with his mother’s hair, very quiet.</p><p>“Do I disappoint you, Father?” she asked.</p><p>“Sometimes,” he admitted.</p><p>“Why?” Her brow furrowed into a frown. “I married him as you bid me. I have given him a healthy son. You were thrilled when Vortimer was born.”</p><p>Mercia turned his attention on his grandson. “He will grow to be a strong man.”</p><p>“Like Papa,” Vortimer chimed in.</p><p>“Correct.” Mercia grinned and ruffled the boy’s hair. He was more affectionate toward Vortimer than he’d ever been with Rowena. Not that it surprised her. She was a girl, a disappointment. Mercia had been deprived of an heir after he’d lost his wife. Rowena had been deprived of a mother, and the one person who had actually loved her.</p><p>Rowena put Vortimer down. “You should be more proud of my achievements. I have had a son, which is more than you could manage.”</p><p>“Yet your husband does not care for you,” Mercia reminded her, an intentionally cruel barb designed to silence Rowena. Once it may have worked, but although she knew her place, she was not a timid little girl anymore.</p><p>“I’m no fool. I didn’t think this marriage was for love. I always knew what it was.”</p><p>“Yet you still complain about it,” Mercia snapped at her.</p><p>Angry and frustrated, Rowena did something she never would have if she’d been thinking rationally – she slapped him across the face. She had never raised a hand to her father before, although he had to her on occasion. Mercia gripped her wrist hard, making her wince. Yet she remained defiant, knowing he had no power over her.</p><p>“You should take care in how you speak to your Queen,” she said coldly.</p><p>Mercia scoffed. “You are also my daughter.”</p><p>“I am, but you placed me higher in station than you when you had me marry Vortigern,” she reminded him. “Be careful who you choose to insult.”</p><p>Mercia looked like there were plenty of things that he wanted to say to her. Perhaps he even wanted to strike her, as he’d done when she’d disobeyed him as a child. Yet since she’d married Vortigern, he had no power over the things she said and did, and they were both well aware of it.</p><p>“You should return to your duties,” he said coolly.</p><p>“Come, Vortimer.” Rowena reached out to take her son’s little hand and lead him from the room. He was the one thing that made her often lonely marriage bearable. Since her mother’s death, Vortimer was the first person she had loved who cared for her in return. Although he was still too small to show it properly, it was obvious that the child cared for his mother. Vortigern valued his son and heir, but Rowena loved him because he was her little one. Whatever else she may be, she was a kind and loving mother.</p><hr/><p>Kyra caught the sight of Arthur’s bloody face from the corner of her eye. She had been having a rather nice conversation with one of the girls before she realised her friend was bleeding. She excused herself from the conversation before making her way over to him, gripping his face. “What did you do?”"</p><p>"Dealt with a problem. Why?" Arthur questioned her, not bothering to stop her from examining his face.</p><p>“You’re bleeding.” She scowled as she led him upstairs and sat him down, grabbing a bowl of water and none too gently cleaning the blood from his face as he sighed heavily, wincing every now and then.</p><p>Tristan stood in the doorway, leaning against it as he watched his two friends. “We went and taught the Vikings a lesson.”</p><p>"They listened." Arthur grinned, seemingly pleased with himself. Kyra continued to fuss over him, ignoring the smug look on his face. "I'm fine."</p><p>“You’re stupid.” She countered as she put the cloth down, washing her hands. “And reckless.”</p><p>"Oh, I am very reckless." Arthur agreed with that, watching as she cleaned up the bloody cloth.</p><p>Kyra glanced over her shoulder at him, narrowing her eyes. “You cannot protect them from the grave.”</p><p>"I could always try." He pointed out, glancing at Tristan as he excused himself with the excuse of wanting food. "You're fussing over me, you know."</p><p>“Am I not allowed to?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest as he got to his feet.</p><p>Arthur grinned down at her, enjoying stirring her up a little more than he should have. "Of course you are. I just didn't think you'd be concerned."</p><p>Kyra shrugged, looking up at him. There wasn’t a huge difference in height between them, but it was big enough that she had to look up at him when he was standing so close. “Well, we have been friends a while.’</p><p>"That is true." He admitted, raising his eyebrows as she examined the cut on his lip. "You're staring."</p><p>“You’re nice to stare at.” She retorted. They knew each other well enough to be completely comfortable with how they spoke to each other, but Kyra couldn’t help but feel her face grow warm as she realised exactly what she had said.</p><p>"As are you." He winked down at her, sliding an arm around her waist as she stood on the tip of her toes, kissing him.</p><p>He eagerly returned the kiss, bending slightly so it was easier for her to deepen it, her arms sliding around his neck and her fingers threading through her hair. It wasn’t the first time they had shared a moment like this, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. She pressed closer against him, her hands running down his chest as his ran up her sides. It had always amused him that they could go from a perfectly normal friendship, to having sex because they had both grown frustrated.</p><p>"Tease." He groaned against her lips as he felt her cool fingers dance across the skin of his chest.</p><p>“I’m sure you hate it.” She grinned against his lips before drawing back.</p><p>Arthur rolled his eyes, faking disgust. "Oh, it's awful."</p><p>“I have information to gather.’ She told him as she pulled away from him, her fingers lingering on his arm for a moment as she did. “Perhaps I will see you later tonight when I return.’</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Practise Your Curtsy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Warnings: none</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyra moved quietly and swiftly through the streets as she made her way towards the safe house. She was an expert at retrieving information, so she knew exactly what had occurred. She walked through the front door, heading straight up the stairs and examining the men who were now sat together, discussing what was happening. “Where is he?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Wetstick and Backlack jumped at the sound of her voice, having not heard her enter the room. "Arthur? Gone."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?" Kyra walked over so she was standing in the middle of the small circle they had formed, clutching her bow tightly in her hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wetstick leant forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. He knew she was going to be upset over the matter, her and Arthur were close in many ways. “They took him to be tested.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyra looked between the two of them, throwing her hands up in frustration. She didn’t understand how they were so calm about the situation. “And you are doing nothing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wetstick sighed heavily. “We can’t do anything.'</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's right. He'll be back once the testing is over." Backlack assured her with a small smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyra narrowed her eyes, not convinced by what they were telling her. There were still other matters that needed discussing. “Why is the brothel gone?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They burned it." Backlack answered her, glancing across at Wetstick. “To make a statement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyra sat down heavily raking her hair back and laying her bow across her lap. Wetstick rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “We’re not sure what happens now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We should wait it out." Backlack suggested. The three of them weren’t going to be able to achieve much. "Blue's running around seeing who he can find."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyra nodded for a moment, glancing at the bottle that was place on the table in front of her by Wetstick. “I’ll look around tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have you had any information of use?" Backlack knew that’s where she had been when all of the shit had been going down, and it was worth checking to see if she had anything useful to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only that the tower is getting bigger." She informed them, sipping at the drink Wetstick had poured her. “And that the Queen is not happy with her husband."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Vortigern's wife?" The two men had heard about her, but didn’t know much of anything about her. Wetstick, however, seemed interested in the knowledge. "Why's that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyra shrugged, downing the drink in her hand. “I do not know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Should try and find out. She's a fair bit younger than him, ain't she?" Backlack didn’t quite know the Queen’s age, but he was fairly sure she was young.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s around Arthur’s age.” Kyra responded, pouring herself another drink. “Her and the King’s son is three now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Backlack leant back in his chair, glancing out of the window. "Is she the one who's related to some lord in Vortigern's court?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Wetstick told him, even he knew that. "Maybe she's useful."</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Rowena looked up from the thick volume she was reading as her husband entered the room, tugging off his armour. She plastered a smile across her face, set her book down and generally made herself seem the attentive wife. It was a role that had been difficult, in some aspects. As a naïve teenager, she had hoped Vortigern would come to love her. Now she realised that would never happened, and she accepted that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have returned, my love.” Her voice was sweet as honey, as it always when she wanted to approach a matter she knew he wouldn’t like discussing. “I wished to talk with you about my father. He is becoming most insolent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vortigern frowned. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He speaks to me with little respect.” Rowena folded her arms. “I feel that he is too complacent and believes that as the father of the Queen, he may speak how he wishes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vortigern sighed. “I have bigger matters to attend to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand that.” Rowena sat on the edge of the bed. “I just ask that, if you find the time, you talk to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well.” He did not sound pleased. She didn’t think he would be. He and Mercia were quite good friends. It was through Mercia that Rowena had heard of the dark magic Vortigern now possessed. How he had come by it, she did not know – after all, he was not a mage. Yet she also did not ask questions, mostly because she feared what the answers might be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He overreaches himself,” Rowena murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rowena, enough,” Vortigern said sharply, causing his young wife to lapse into silence. She did not like being chastised, and knew that she became meek far too quickly when criticised by her husband. She picked up her book and lay back on the bed with it, silently fuming. She highly doubted Vortigern would say much to Mercia, and therefore Mercia would continue to criticise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she had first been betrothed to Vortigern, Rowena had to admit that she had been vain and full of self-importance. She had always known that she was beautiful, but the realisation that she was desired by a man as powerful as the King had thrilled her – for a time. Once she had married Vortigern, she realised that being pretty and useful for bearing children didn’t make her worth all that much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had attempted to prove that she was clever, but Vortigern didn’t have a wife so that he could have intelligent conversation with her. Although she and the King exchanged pleasantries, her role as the mother of his child and bearer of future babies was set in stone. It made her feel trapped, not triumphant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bed sank slightly as Vortigern rolled onto it. Rowena peered over her book at her husband. She had heard concerning rumours about him. That he had killed his brother to become King. That no one really knew the truth of what had happened to his first wife, Elsa. Rowena didn’t ask questions. She kept her mouth shut and was obedient. But perhaps the time for curiosity was at hand.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“So. What’s the plan?" Wetstick asked as the four of them sat together. Backlack and Blue were talking quietly while Kyra sat in silence, sharpening the knives in her hands. They needed to devise a way to get their friend back, but that was almost certainly easier said than done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have to wait for an opportunity." Kyra sighed heavily, sheathing her knives as she poked the fire, attempting to make it slightly larger than it currently was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Backlack frowned as he turned away from his conversation, glancing at his two friends. "What opportunity?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To get Arthur back. Have you not been paying attention?" Wetstick snapped, his tone more abrupt than he had intended. They were all worried and stressed, and Wetstick knew it was better to not take it out on the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, yeah, but I mean...what could we do?" Backlack stumbled over his words, unsure of how to put his thoughts into a comprehendible sentence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The King has a young son and wife. We could use them against him." Kyra suggested. It was going to be easier to target them than to try and target Vortigern himself. “Most of his men are distracted with the tower and Arthur. She’s vulnerable."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wetstick nodded thoughtfully, running the plan through his mind. “It would be hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s young and very precious. If you get a hold of her son she’ll do anything to keep him safe.” Kyra had observed her from afar, but she could tell that the woman would do anything to keep her son from harm. She admired her for that, at the very least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s our best option.” Wetstick admitted. They weren’t going to be able to get Arthur by bursting in, they needed to be smart about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyra sipped at the drink Backlack handed her, her face screwing up at the foul taste of the ale. She didn’t understand how men could drink it in such large amounts. “Only the three of us would be able to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wetstick nodded in agreement. They wouldn’t need a large amount of people to pull it off, and the less people they had the less attention could be drawn, and should they get caught, it was fewer people being killed for their little plan. “The three of us is plenty to get the woman. Another couple to help us get in and out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How would we get to her? She'd be well protected, no doubt." Backlack raked a hand through his hair, looking down at the fire, an idea sparking in his mind as he looked back up at Kyra. "You could pose as a servant."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyra rolled her eyes. It was a good idea, just not one she would enjoy. “Wonderful."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You'd best practise your curtsy." Backlack smirked at her, ducking when she hurled one of her knives at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wetstick laughed at the horrified look on Backlack’s face, watching as the man handed the woman back her knife. Kyra just glared at him as she sheathed her knife. If she wanted to hurt him, she would have. “Get some sleep. We will leave early."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Backlack groaned at the mention of an early morning. "I don't like early mornings."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wetstick chuckled, shaking his head at the other man. “Well, I know that."</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Rowena tapped on her father’s door, trying to ignore the feeling of anxiety that washed over whenever she visited him. He was constantly critical of her, and it made seeing him a nerve-wracking experience. As the Queen she could have just strode into his room without announcing herself, but she felt it wise to remember her manners. Mercia turned from the window as his daughter entered, his grandson skipping in after her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Father,” she said coolly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, sir,” Vortimer said, ever the perfect little gentleman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How may I help you?” Mercia inquired as Rowena sat down, picking up her son and putting him in her lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish to speak with you about Elsa. Vortigern’s first wife.” It was a topic that few ever really discussed. When Elsa had died, it was like her name had died with her. The only reminder that she had ever existed lay in her daughter, Catia. It disturbed Rowena, particularly because the circumstances of her predecessor’s death had been so mysterious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercia raised his eyebrows. “What of her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did she die?” Rowena asked. “Her death was rather sudden.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was ill,” Mercia said dismissively, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Rowena felt uneasy, her hands shaking as she reached up to play with Vortimer’s golden curls. Whatever had happened to Elsa, clearly no one wanted to talk about it. “You would be best asking your husband these questions, not me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As little to do with me as possible, isn’t that right, Father?” Rowena pushed herself to her feet, popping Vortimer on his feet. The toddler might still be too young to realise that his grandfather only cared when it benefitted him, but she hoped one day he would understand. As a child, Rowena had desperately vied for her father’s affection – and only gotten it when she had done something that advanced his ambitions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?” Mercia frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was I unclear? Or did you just not hear me?” Rowena demanded, folding her arms over her chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not appreciate how ungrateful you have been lately,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ungrateful?” Rowena couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Why should I show </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> gratitude?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercia crossed over to her. “You have lived a privileged and sheltered life, and yet you act very hard done by.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She scoffed, tossing back her hair. “I do no such thing, but I don’t owe you a single thing, Father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you do.” He scowled down at her. “If it weren’t for me, you would never have married the King.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could have caught his attention all on my own,” Rowena stated. Her father had helped her in the belief that she could snare the King, so why now would he question that? “You were the one who told me that I was pretty enough to catch his interest in the first place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He only ever needed one thing from one.” Mercia looked pointedly at the little boy clutching at his mother’s dress. “A son.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rowena clenched her jaw. “I can have more sons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps.” Mercia waved a dismissive hand at her. “That is all you are useful for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have only ever done everything that you and the King wanted,” Rowena insisted. Her life had been lived attempting to please her father, and then Vortigern. Sometimes she felt that she had failed at both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Except complain about every possible thing,” Mercia reminded her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rowena hesitated, unintentionally falling back into the role of the disillusioned young girl, the girl who desperately wanted her father to show pride in her. She averted her eyes, knowing that he was disappointed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Father. Please, at least tell me I’ve done something to make you proud.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Mercia responded. The single syllable was short and sharp and it cut her like a knife. Trying to hide her hurt, Rowena held out her hand to her son. Perhaps she had never known love from her father, but she would ensure Vortimer always knew he was cared for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come, my sweet.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Kyra glanced around the dimly lit hallway as she moved towards the Queen’s room, pushing her hair from her face and making sure that her clothing was neat and presentable. She wasn’t a fan of the dress she was wearing, or that she had had to hide her knives and leave her bow behind. It was necessary, but she felt almost naked without her trusted weapons. As she moved in front of the door, she knocked on it lightly, looking around for any signs of guards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come in." She heard the female voice call from the other side of the door. She pushed it open slowly, taking a moment to take in her surroundings before meeting the Queen’s gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyra curtsied, trying her best to keep her balance. “Your Majesty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes?" The Queen arched an eyebrow at her, her son perched on her hip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was told you needed me.” Kyra tried to keep her voice as even as possible, despite the fact that her heart was pounding in her chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Queen frowned at the words. "Well, I don't know who told you that, because I am perfectly fine."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am sorry. I am new here.” Kyra apologised, keeping her words slow so she didn’t stumble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Queen nodded, setting her son back down on his feet. "Perhaps see if Princess Catia needs anything."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyra nodded, glancing at the window as Wetstick clambered in, holding a knife in one hand. He was closely followed by Backlack, prompting the young woman to start screaming as Kyra moved to the door, barring it. She glanced back at the Queen who seemed to be rather distressed, not that any of them could say they blamed her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"None of that now, love." Backlack told her, glancing at Kyra as she drew one of her knives. They all knew the screaming could have drawn attention, and that meant a fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t wish to hurt you.' Wetstick assured her, holding his hand out in a calming matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Queen shook her head, looking between the three of them. "Then why do you have knives?!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are attracting your guards. Be quiet and I won’t use it.” Kyra pointed out, lowering the knife in her hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you want?" The Queen questioned, attempting to bring some strength and authority back into her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyra glanced at her son before sheathing her knife, attempting to make herself try and look somewhat less menacing. “For you to come with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lady, we aren't having a discussion." Backlack cut in, knowing they were short on time and there would be room for talking later on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What about my son?" She looked down at the little boy in her arms, stroking a hand over his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wetstick lowered his knife as well, glancing out of the window. “We aren’t going to separate you. As I said, we don’t wish to harm you. But we do need to move. Now.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Royal Hostages</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Warnings: none</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Rowena glanced between the people who were keeping her and her son prisoner. Neither of them were cruel or unkind, but she could tell that they had no real care for her, other than she was useful to them. She glanced down at her son who was shifting restlessly. "He needs to eat."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am cooking.” Kyra informed her, having finished skinning the rabbits she had caught for them earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rowen wrinkled her nose at the ingredients in her meal. Simple rabbit and vegetable stew was not something she was accustomed to. "Just rabbits?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry it isn’t what you’re used to in the castle.” Kyra sneered at her as she cut up the rabbit before throwing it in the already bubbling broth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, you abducted me, remember?" Rowena bit back, earning a sigh from Wetstick who sat on the opposite side of the fire to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t piss her off." He muttered under his breath, glancing at Kyra as she got to her feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rowena glanced between them, sitting up straighter. "I'm not afraid of any of you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you trying to convince us, or yourself, sweetheart?” Kyra laughed as she grabbed some apples from her bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've seen thugs and ruffians before." Rowena narrowed her eyes, keeping a tight grip on her son. She didn’t care if they hurt her, but she did worry for her son.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are neither of those." Wetstick assured her, although he assumed she cared little for what they labelled themselves as.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vortimer tugged as his mother’s sleeve, and she could tell he was beginning to grow hungrier. It had been a while since they had last had the chance to eat. "Mama."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rowena ran a hand through his hair tenderly, glancing at Kyra as she fed their horses. “I know, sweetheart. We will eat soon."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wetstick pulled a cookie from his bag, handing it to the child who looked at him gratefully. "Thank you, sir."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call me Wetstick.” Wetstick smiled warmly at him, not wanting the child to be frightened with everything that was going on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What sort of name is Wetstick?" The name was unusual and foreign on her tongue as she mulled it over. Surely he had a proper name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A name a good friend gave me.” He explained to her, leaning back as he stirred the stew in front of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My name is Vortimer." Vortimer told him, having finished the cookie that was handed to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rowena frowned down at her son. "Hush. Don't speak with them."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should try being less rude.” Kyra suggested as she began dishing up the stew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You again." Rowena rolled her eyes at the other woman, although she was thankful when a bowl was thrust into her hands shortly followed by a metal cup of water. "Thank you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suggest you take this. Or you’ll freeze out here.” Kyra handed a blanket to her once she had gotten comfortable with the food in her hands. Rowena took it after a moment and wrapped around her and her son. She may not have loved where she had been living, but it was a far better option than the situation she now faced.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Mercia was not a man who was easily intimidated, yet he was apprehensive about the news he now brought before the King. Vortigern was looking over the plans for the tower when Mercia entered, clearing his throat and dipping into a stiff bow. The King was not a hot-tempered man, but when he was angry it was truly something else. Mercia had no desire to be on the receiving end of such anger, yet here he was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rowena has been taken.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guards had searched the entire palace grounds and Mercia had been interrogating servants all morning, before one of them admitted that a new maid had entered Rowena’s room, a maid whose name he could not recall. There was no doubt in Mercia’s mind that his daughter and grandson had been abducted by the resistance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Vortigern looked up from the tower plans, brow furrowing into a frown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Vortimer,” Mercia added reluctantly, knowing that it was the abduction of the King’s son that would matter to him most. Rowena was his wife, but of the two of them, Vortigern would much rather his toddler son be safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Taken where? By who?” Vortigern demanded, blue eyes gleaming with anger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t know, possibly the resistance.” Mercia twisted his hands, suddenly nervous. “My men are searching for her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For fuck’s sake, Mercia!” Vortigern slammed his fist down on the desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps the guard around her should have been better,” Mercia suggested, knowing that he was playing with fire here. He did not think the King would appreciate being told how he could have done better or avoided this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What reason did I have to suspect my wife and son were in danger?” The King seethed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arthur made a point to the growing resistance,” Mercia said, heaving a sigh, “Whether he meant to or not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vortigern clenched his jaw. “They wouldn’t dare harm them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would like to think not,” Mercia admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spare me, Mercia, you wouldn’t care.” The King rolled his eyes. Everyone in the court knew that Mercia and Rowena did not get on, that Mercia did not respect the Queen and she was constantly irritated at him because of it. However, that didn’t mean Mercia wanted any harm to come to his only child.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She is still my daughter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want them found.” Vortigern waved a dismissive hand toward Mercia, and the older man knew he was certainly not in the King’s favour right now, and would not be until Rowena and Vortimer were returned. “Get out.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>"My feet hurt." Rowena complained as she continued to scale her way up the large hill. They had been walking for most of the day without rest and she was growing tired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Be quiet." Backlack groaned, having begun to tire of her constant complaining.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rowena slipped as she attempted to walk up a particularly large hill. Wetstick noticed, gripping her arm and helping her onto more solid ground. "Thank you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome.” Wetstick told her, glancing over at Kyra who had stopped moving, her bow held tightly at her side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard something.” She explained to Backlack as he gave her a questioning look. There was a small rustling and Kyra was quick to draw an arrow, aiming it in the direction of the sound. “Arthur?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur ran a hand through his blonde hair as he examined the small group, immediately noticing Rowena and her child. It was hard not to. They were very out of place. "Kyra? What are you doing here?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were looking for the resistance.” She told him, walking over and wrapping her arms around him. She had been worried about him since she had gotten the news he had been taken, and it was a relief to see him well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur held her close to him, rubbing her back as he glanced at his two close friends. "Well, you found it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re injured.” Kyra frowned, gripping his face in her hands as she examined him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm fine." He assured her, kissing her cheek as they separated and making his way to the two males who stood behind her. "Wetstick. Backlack."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good to see you." Backlack grinned while Wetstick slapped a hand on Arthur’s back, the three of them thrilled to be reunited.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rowena took the chance to run in that moment, but was quickly tackled by Kyra. She didn’t have the strength to restrain Rowena like the boys did, but she was fast and had her in the dirt and a knife to her throat before the other woman could get far away. Vortimer ran towards them, alerting the others of the scuffle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What have we got here?" Arthur questioned as he strode over to where Kyra had Rowena in the dirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wetstick placed a hand on Kyra’s shoulder, tugging lightly in an effort to prompt her to put her knife away. “Kyra.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You wouldn't bring me out all this way just to slit my throat." Rowena snarled at her, struggling against her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, well, well. Mercia’s daughter and grandson.” William, known as Goosefat Bill to the resistance, strode over to them. He smirked as he examined the two in front of him. Rowena recognised him and narrowed her eyes at him, shrugging Kyra off as she was pulled to her feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"William."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur glanced between them, arching an eyebrow. "You two know each other?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bedivere cut in, examining her and her son. "You captured the Queen."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She's the Queen? She's a little girl." Arthur frowned, looking over at her. He had expected the Queen to be older. She was barely his age after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Excuse you, I am not!" She snapped at him, anger flaring in her eyes as she moved over to her son, pulling him to her in a protective manner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can use her.” William pointed out. “However, they look as if they need to be fed. And bathed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wetstick nodded, stepping forward to stand beside her. “I’ll take her inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I will show you where to take her.” William informed him with a tight smile, gesturing for them to follow him.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Rowena gently brushed the tangles out of Vortimer’s blonde curls as the toddler squirmed around in her lap. She could not blame him for being restless – she felt much the same. Although a placid and happy little boy, it was clear that her son felt lost and confused by their new surroundings. The door to the room in which they were held opened, and Rowena was none too pleased to see William saunter in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rowena. I see they found some clothes.” The former nobleman’s lip curled at Rowena’s plain dress, a far cry from the beautiful gowns she’d been accustomed to at the palace. She held her son close to her, wary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They did. Can I help you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish to talk.” William folded his arms over his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To gloat, no doubt.” Rowena smiled wryly. “You and my father don’t get on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There had been some bad blood between William and Mercia in the past, although what exactly had happened was a mystery to her. Nonetheless, she had the suspicion that William intended to exact his revenge through her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, we don’t,” William admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yet that’s nothing to do with me,” Rowena pointed out. She had only been a child when Vortigern had come into power, and whatever had occurred between her father and William had taken place. She could not be blamed for Mercia’s sins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps not, but you’re here with me and not with him. I have something over him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You see, that’s where you’re wrong.” Rowena flashed him a charming smile. “My father doesn’t care much for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but he cares for your son.” William’s attention turning onto the wide-eyed toddler made Rowena tense, clutching her son closer to her. “It is a shame you may get hurt in all of this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only if I misbehave, which I don’t intend to,” she said coolly. “I’m more than just someone’s daughter or someone’s wife. You have issues with my father, not with me. The resistance doesn’t want me harmed, and you wouldn’t go against their will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harmed intentionally, not by accident, you mean,” William reminded her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rowena lifted her chin and smirked. “You could try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tempt me,” he warned, casting her a dark look before turning and marching from the room, leaving Rowena to wonder how far William planned to go in order to exact his vengeance on Mercia.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Wetstick leaned in the doorway and watched as Rowena tucked her toddler son into bed. He didn’t quite know what he’d expected of the Queen, but for some reason, she caught him off-guard. She was younger than he’d thought, a year or two younger than him. She was also a beautiful young woman, although he strived to ignore that fact. Rowena glanced at him, offering him a tight smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come in.” As he approached, she arched an eyebrow. “Surely you have to have a real name aside from Wetstick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tristan.” He shrugged. The word tasted strange in his mouth. Very few people actually called him that these days. “Why do you want to know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Curious.” Rowena sat down beside the child’s bed. “Why are my son and I here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Originally it was so we could use you to get Arthur back,” Wetstick admitted, “Now I’m unsure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why can’t we go home?” The Queen demanded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They still intend to use you for leverage,” Wetstick said. It did no harm to tell her the purpose of her presence. It wasn’t as though she could go and tell someone who’d help her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you intend to demand a ransom, my husband wouldn’t pay it.” Rowena shook her head. “Not for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But for your son.” Wetstick’s gaze turned to the blonde boy. The Queen was extremely protective of her son, the only child produced from her and Vortigern’s marriage so far from what they had heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Rowena nodded. “My son is precious to both my husband and father. It must be nice to be born a boy, I suppose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t know.” Wetstick thought perhaps it was well enough for the wealthy, but not for the rest of them. “I grew up in the gutter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Queen looked taken aback. “Oh. I see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People like you don’t care about people like me.” Wetstick shrugged his shoulders. Rowena was beautiful, pampered and married to the most powerful man in the kingdom. She knew nothing about the struggles faced by the working class. Her brow furrowed into a terse frown at his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you even know about people like me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know enough to realise you don’t know what a hard life is,” he responded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I probably don’t.” Rowena gently stroked her sleeping toddler’s hair. “Everyone always tells me I’m very lucky. I have money and pretty dresses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A roof over your head,” Wetstick added, “Food on your table.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A humourless smile graced her lips. “A spoilt brat, I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t say that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t have to.” Rowena’s voice was firm, indicating that she knew precisely what he thought of her. She sighed, drawing her hand back from Vortimer’s curls. “You do have some things I don’t, however.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Freedom, of a sort,” Wetstick admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Friends.” Rowena’s voice was soft, wistful. “People who genuinely care for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wetstick turned his attention on her son. Everyone knew Vortigern had a daughter from his first marriage, not much younger than his second wife. Yet this little boy was precious to him. There were those who wouldn’t care about harming a three-year-old if they thought it would cause a reaction from the King. Those people disgusted Wetstick. Vortimer had been nothing but polite and well-behaved, despite his trying circumstances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s a good kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He means everything to me.” There was a tenderness in Rowena’s voice as she looked down at her son.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I expected he would,” Wetstick said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t, not when I was pregnant with him.” Rowena looked up, blue eyes serene. “I wasn’t really ready to be a mother, but then he was born.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wetstick examined her, the young Queen so fiercely devoted to her child. Despite her privilege and the fact that she had plenty of money, she had no voice, not to the men in her life. The fact that she said she wasn’t ready to be a mother made him certain she was pressured into parenthood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one deserves to be treated how they treat you,” he blurted out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde woman frowned. “What do you mean by that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They treat you like the property.” The idea disgusted him. Women among their group, such as Kyra, were free to do as they pleased. The Queen, apparently the most powerful woman in the kingdom, was no more than a puppet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what women of my station are.” Rowena gave a light shrug. “I belonged to my father and he arranged for me to marry Vortigern when I was eighteen. I was lucky the King chose me, that he wanted me for his wife and the mother of his children.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t see how you are,” Wetstick admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what women want, isn’t it?” She looked genuinely confused. “To please their husband and give him healthy children? It’s all I’m meant to want. To serve Vortigern however I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you actually feel?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trapped.” Rowena fidgeted with the hem of the plain dress she’d been given. “But my husband is not unkind toward me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should rest as well.” Wetstick knew it had been none of his business to pry into her marriage. She was simply a hostage, nothing more. Yet for some reason he found himself curious about the young woman. “I’ll bring you some food later.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Kyra leant against a tree beside the lake, watching Arthur as he skipped stones over the water. She had been watching him for a while, and he was still yet to notice, leading her to believe he was deep in thought. It worried her, seeing him as caught up in his own mind as he was, and she was unsure of how to help him. She pushed herself away from the tree and made her way down to him, making sure to make some noise to alert him she was approaching. She placed her hand on his shoulder as she reached him, smiling down at him as he looked up at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You alright?" She questioned, squeezing his shoulder gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just thinking." Arthur assured her, smiling back at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyra sat down beside him, crossing her legs. “Don’t hurt yourself."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So much has changed." He mused, raking a hand through his hair before skipping another stone across the water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You might need to rethink your friends now, my King. I don’t think they’re appropriate company for royalty.” She mocked, a smirk playing at her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur frowned, running hand down his face and letting out a long sigh. "Don't call me that. I'm not a King. Not until I kill Vortigern."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t think too much on it.’ She told him, kissing his cheek lightly and resting a hand on his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Someone's affectionate." Arthur grinned in an attempt to lighten the mood and change the subject. He always found it easy to be around Kyra. He didn’t have to pretend like he had been with the others. He had missed her and Wetstick and Backlack in their time apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raised an eyebrow at his comment, “Is that not allowed?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It is, just unusual." He pointed out, frowning as she sighed at him. "What?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m just thinking about everything going on. It’s a lot to take in.” Kyra raked a hand through her hair, pulling it over her shoulder and picking up her own stone to throw across the water. “How do you feel about all of this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Terrified, to be honest." He knew there was no point in lying or trying to hide his feelings. "I have help now. Bedievere and William knew my father."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you spoken with them about him?" Kyra knew that Arthur had very little knowledge of his parents, just like she did. It was something they both shared, and had always been something that had brought them together. She was happy he at least knew who they were, and could now seek knowledge on them. Arthur shook his head in answer, letting out a heavy sigh. “Perhaps you should."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright." Arthur nodded, glancing down at her as she rested her head on his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyra shifted slightly so that she could press her lips against his, pressing closer as he wrapped an arm around her waist. Kyra moved into his lap as she continued to press closer to him, her arm wrapping around his neck as his hands travelled up her sides. Arthur drew back as he grinned at her, one of his hands resting against the side of her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you grinning like that?" She murmured, kissing him again briefly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur chuckled, tracing small circles on her thigh with his thumb. "You seem very eager."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve missed you, and I was worried. I honestly didn’t think I cared much about you." Kyra laughed, raking a hand through her hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So now you've realised you do?" His grin grew wider, although she could tell it was less mocking now. It was both endearing and irritating at the same time. "It's cute."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how do you feel, Arthur?” She inquired, running her hands down his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I care about you." He smiled, kissing her cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on. You can’t spend the whole day with me." As much as Kyra wanted to savour the moment, she also knew she had spent enough time with Arthur and that people had no doubt begun to look for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur winked at her as she got to her feet, following her shortly after. "Very true, everyone deserves the presence of the born King."</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Terms and Conditions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Warnings: none</b>
</p><p>
  <span>"How did she slip past us?" Arthur grumbled as he trailed after his lover, watching as she expertly looked for a track to indicate where Rowena had fled to. He didn’t know how she did it, but he wasn’t complaining. Her skill set was particularly useful, especially now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re telling me." She sighed, crouching low in the bushes to examine for any signs of someone passing through. So far, she had only noted animal tracks. “I’m sure we can find her."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She can't have gotten far with the little boy." Arthur was right. Having her son with her meant that she would’ve been slower, and more likely than not had no experience in actually covering her tracks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyra shook her head. It was beginning to grow dark, and there was a damp chill in the air. It was going to be a long and cold night, and not even she would venture the woods in the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought she would be smarter than this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She's a privileged girl. She wants to go back to being pampered." Arthur couldn’t blame her for wanting to leave, but he also wished she didn’t act as if they were going to slit her throat at any moment. Kyra got back into her saddle, turning her horse back in the direction they had come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve searched our area.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur trailed after her, moving his horse beside hers. "Should we help the others?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyra considered it for a moment before nodding, casting a sideways glance at him. “Alright. How’s your leg?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's fine." He told her as he stretched it out of the stirrup, wincing only slightly as pain flared through the injury. Kyra didn’t fail to notice the pain flicker in his eyes. Damn her and the fact that she was so observant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course I'm sure." He grinned at her, nudging his horse towards hers and watching as it grew agitated, snapping back at his own. "You worry too much."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t help it." Her voice was tight as she spoke to him, and her words were clipped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur studied her for a moment, realising just how much she had grown up in the past weeks. She was no longer the small spy master who crept through the city, whispers forever on her tongue. She was becoming deadlier, and the childlike playfulness had begun to fade. "We grew up on the streets. We've survived worse."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Luckily.” She reminded him before spurring her horse forward, leaving no further room for conversation.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It had not been difficult to escape with Tristan guarding her and Vortimer. The man had been remarkably lax, and slipping past him with her son had been easier than Rowena expected. Taking a horse from the stables and heading out of the camp unnoticed had been the harder part, yet she felt she’d had remarkable luck there also.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d seated Vortimer in front of her on the saddle, the reins unfamiliar in her hands. It had been many years since she’d ridden a horse, aside from when she’d been captured of course. It was oddly thrilling, although that excitement was dulled by a sense of panic at the unfamiliar terrain all around her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another horse cut her off, and Rowena yanked on the reins to prevent hers from colliding with it. She scowled upon realising that it was Tristan. So he had noticed her disappearance after all. Tristan did not look pleased but neither did he seem angry. Instead his expression was more one of resignation, as though he’d anticipated this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rowena.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Out of my way,” she snapped, fingers curling tighter around the reins. “I want to go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you can’t,” Tristan responded with a shrug of his shoulders. “Sorry about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll hurt you,” Rowena threatened, yet the words sounded empty even to her. She didn’t have a weapon on her person. It was just herself, Vortimer, and the horse they’d escaped on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get off the horse, Rowena.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Realising that she was defeated, Rowena slipped out of the saddle, reaching up to carefully hoist Vortimer down. She watched warily as Tristan jumped off his horse. Her arms tightened instinctively around Vortimer, who buried his face in his mother’s shoulder. Would she be punished for this escape attempt? Yet instead Tristan just grabbed the reins of both horses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a few moments, the only sound was the crunching of dry leaves underfoot and the snorts of their horses. Vortimer wriggled in his mother’s arms and she settled for setting him down, letting him toddle alongside her with a firm grip on his small hand. Tristan was watching her with an odd look on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t want to hurt you, Rowena. We’re not the bad guys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You abducted my son and I,” Rowena reminded him. Perhaps Tristan believed in their cause and that he was justified in his actions, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t participated in kidnapping her and her toddler son. It was the fact that Vortimer had become involved that angered Rowena the most, although she knew they’d never have taken her without him. Everyone was aware that Vortigern favoured his young son.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yet we haven’t harmed you,” Tristan pointed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rowena’s blue eyes narrowed. “So I should be grateful?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It could be much worse,” he assured her. His words did not seem to be a threat. She knew that Tristan was one of the better men among them, and that he would not let harm come to her or her child. Yet there were others, William in particular, who she had her doubts about. Yet she knew she had to appear unaffected, so she tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not scared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet – should she be? This was the furthest she had been away from her husband and father. This was the wilderness, with no servants to attend her needs, and no one to protect her if someone should mean her harm. Despite her assurances that she was fearless, Rowena thought even Tristan could tell that she wasn’t.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Mercia arrived in the designated meeting place, very aware that the safety of his daughter and grandson were at stake. He had been reluctant to accept Arthur’s invitation to meet and discuss terms, and he had talked about it with Vortigern at length. Whilst Mercia didn’t believe that the rebels would harm Rowena or Vortimer, he couldn’t know that for certain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord Mercia.” Arthur swaggered up to him with a cockiness that made Mercia want to slap him across the face. What an impudent brat. “I take it you’re here regarding the Queen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Father.” Rowena crossed over with little Vortimer close at her side, clutching at his mother’s skirt. She was dressed like a peasant, in a dress far below her station, yet she appeared unharmed. The little boy was unusually shy, but peered out once he recognised his grandfather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you hurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” She shook her head vehemently, blonde hair unruly. “How is my husband? Does he miss me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course he does.” The words weren’t a lie. Vortigern was determined to have his wife and son back. Yet Mercia was aware that those reasons were less to do with caring for Rowena and more to do with ensuring that she and Vortimer could not be used against him in current conflict. Mercia turned to frown at Arthur. “I wish to take my daughter home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged his shoulders. “That isn’t going to be possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercia stepped forward, causing the men with Arthur to tense and place their hands on the hilts of their swords. Things were bad enough without a fight breaking out, but he needed Arthur to know he meant business.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because of what Vortigern is doing.” Arthur folded his arms over his chest. “I want him to stop building the tower, and I want him to acknowledge that I am the rightful King. Then he’ll get his wife and son back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercia was troubled, knowing that Vortigern would never agree to do either of those things. He understood that the King could not bow to such conditions, but there must be some kind of compromise that resulted in Rowena and Vortimer being permitted to return home safely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can take the terms to him, but I cannot guarantee you will like his answer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Then I cannot guarantee the safety and wellbeing of the Queen and her child.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercia clenched his jaw, his gaze drifting to his daughter, who’d scooped up Vortimer and was holding the toddler close. It was obvious that she had heard Arthur’s words and was unnerved by the veiled threat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Father, please make him listen,” she insisted, stroking her son’s blonde curls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can try.” Mercia fixed his eyes on Arthur. The young man was a pretender, nothing more. Mercia would ensure that he died knowing he meant nothing. “I am sure we will be seeing each other again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur smirked. “Count on it.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Rowena. I have food for you." Kyra greeted the other room from the doorway, holding a tray with plates of food on it. Rowena smiled slightly at her, glancing back to her son who was on the floor playing with some toys. She took that as an invitation and strode in, placing the tray down on the table. “How are you feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rowena watched her carefully, her gaze clearly noting that Kyra had removed her belt and the knife that usually gleamed at her hip was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Cooped up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can go for a walk?" Kyra suggested. She didn’t know how happy Arthur would be about it, but she wasn’t going to make the other woman feel like a prisoner. “Come on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyra watched as Rowena took her son’s hand, handing him some bread before grabbing herself some fruit. They ate quickly before Rowena nodded to Kyra that she was ready, following the other woman out. Kyra glanced around the halls as she led them through them, keeping an eye on Rowena in her peripheral vision. She didn’t want a repeat of the other day, but she knew Rowena wouldn’t slip past her as easily as she had from Tristan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry I threatened you before." Kyra stated with sincerity. Rowena seemed to be assessing Kyra, probably noting the differences between them. Where Rowena had soft curves, Kyra was hard lines and planes of muscle. Where Rowena’s hands were soft, Kyra’s were calloused and scarred. Kyra’s life had been hard yes, but she had also said once that her freedom was worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why are you being nice to me?" Rowena blurted out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyra glanced at her before leading them down another corridor that led to the gardens. “I feel sorry for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rowena frowned at the comment. "Why?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have my reasons."  Kyra shrugged, nodding at a guard as she passed. Rowena was thankful for the vibrant garden that now surrounded her. Her wide-eyed expression indicated that she much preferred it to the stone walls of her room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why would you pity me? I'm the Queen." Rowena sounded curious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly. I doubt you chose to marry the King. I also doubt you’re able to do anything but have children and attend soirees. You have no freedom, not really.” Kyra reasoned, leaning against one of the larger trees as Rowena sat on one of the small stone benches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No. My father arranged the match. We were betrothed when I was sixteen." Rowena explained to her. She didn’t seem as though she hated her husband, but it evidently wasn’t a marriage born out of love. Kyra nodded, drawing a small knife from her boot and cleaning the dirt from under her nails.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly. You may have all the riches you desire, and have servants to do whatever you want. But you lack a lot of things as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rowena didn’t seem surprised at Kyra withdrawing the concealed weapon. "My husband is not unkind to me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyra raised an eyebrow, not making eye contact as she asked the next question. “Do you love him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No. Why would I?" People in Rowena’s station didn’t marry for love, unless they were lucky. "It's expected. Besides, I have my son. I was lucky with him. I had a boy. Men always want boys, especially Kings."</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Mercia. You’ve returned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vortigern looked up from his goblet of wine as his right-hand man entered the room. He had been waiting for Mercia to return from negotiating with the rebels, and although Vortigern was disappointed to realise that neither his wife nor his son had been released into Mercia’s custody, he couldn’t say that he was overly surprised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have. With terms.” Mercia sank into the seat opposite the King, heaving a sigh. His tense demeanour indicated that the terms he’d come back with were not ones that Vortigern would agree with. The King was adamant on knowing what Arthur had proposed in any case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They want you to stop building the tower and declare Arthur to be the rightful King.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vortigern threw back his head and laughed. Did Arthur seriously think he would even consider that for a moment? The fact that his nephew held his wife and son hostage was irritating, but Vortigern didn’t doubt that he would find a way to get them back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That won’t be happening. They wouldn’t dare harm either of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They would if it meant winning this war,” Mercia pointed out. It was clear that despite his usual disregard for his daughter, Mercia was perturbed by the idea that Rowena and possibly Vortimer could be harmed during all of this. The man was cold, but he was not heartless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vortigern leaned back, setting his goblet down. He allowed himself a few moments to collect his thoughts. Although he was not willing to meet Arthur’s terms – the mere idea was offensive to every part of his being – he was aware of the fact that his wife and son could be in very real danger. He did not know Arthur, or how far the man would go to achieve his goals.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you suggest I do, Mercia?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Negotiate with them,” Mercia insisted. He had not made any mention of Rowena and Vortimer and their condition, leading Vortigern to believe that they were safe – for now. If they’d been harmed, it would have been one of the first things Mercia would have reported back on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And offer them what? If I make them a smaller offer, they will only agree to give one of them back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So pick the one who is dearer to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would be Vortimer,” Vortigern said without missing a beat. He cared for Rowena – she was a beautiful, sweet young woman who’d given him an heir – but ultimately, his son was more important to him. “Ideally, I’d like both. But I’ll accept whatever comes our way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well.” Mercia clasped his hands in his lap. “Decide your terms and I will deliver them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We still have some of the prostitutes,” Vortigern murmured, knowing that the women were dear to Arthur. Those women had raised him, and they would suffer the King’s wrath if Arthur didn’t get back in line. “Unless my wife and son are returned to me, they will all die. See what Arthur says to that.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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